


Just Like Marshmallows

by CriminalCryptid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: HADS valentines gift exchange, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriminalCryptid/pseuds/CriminalCryptid
Summary: soft and sweet and pale





	Just Like Marshmallows

AC: :33< so just talk to him! i purromise mewll f33l better fur it

_“Nepeta.”_

Oh, that’s your cue. Better go see what’s up.

AC: :33< i have to go right meow, but ill talk to mew later! bye!

You log off, spin your desk chair around just in time for Equius to enter, and grin. “Hey! What’s up?” 

“Have you been soliciting our friends for details on their love lives again?” He's leaning against your door frame, trying to look stern. It's very cute.

“Mmmaaaybe?” You grin your answer, absolutely a little shit about it. To be fair, though, you wouldn't call it _soliciting._ You just ask them straight up, and tease them a little if they seem embarrassed.

“Nepeta.”

“Fiiiiiiine, yes, I've been _asking_ about relationship statuses. Come on, Equius, you can't fault me for being _purrious!”_

“I most certainly can. Now stop that.” 

You roll your eyes at him, then cross your arms. “Stop what? I'm not doing anything new.”

“The _cat puns,_ Nepeta.”

“Absolutely not! And especially not if _mew’re_ telling me to, Mr. Horse Puns.” You've scooted closer in your desk chair by now, giving him your absolute best ‘little shit’ grin. This is what you do, you tease each other back and forth until you end up in a pile with Equius’s head in your lap and your fingers threaded through his hair. Sometimes you talk about crushes, or his issues with STRENGTH, or your relationship, or sometimes you just sit there humming and playing with his hair until he’s a purring mess.

He reaches out like he’s going to set his hand on your shoulder, then stops, hesitates, and draws his hand back again. You grab his wrist and pull it back toward you– if he didn’t want this he could easily stop you, it’s fine– to kiss his palm. He makes a noise like you just killed him, and you can watch as his shoulders slump and he gives up on that bit of control. Hah, you win.

“Nepeta-” Too late, you’ve already popped up onto your feet to press a finger to his lips, _grinning_ at him. Yeah, you’re _so_ gonna _spoil_ him. “Hush, you’re getting the moirail treatment.”

 

This time, you decide that “the moirail treatment” is in the pile, his head propped up on your leg so you can tend to his horns. It’s been awhile, so you get the whole horn grooming kit out. First you pick the loose bits of broken horn out, then you sand away the rough, flaky bits from the rest, working your way up from the lowest grade he needs (higher than halfway, you pride yourself on) to polish them to the fine, smooth shine society recognizes as exemplary of a fine moirail. You truly are a proud huntress.

He melts into your lap, all soft and compliant and _finally_ not worrying about hurting you while you work in the chitin oil. To be fair, though, you are kind of kneading one of his biggest pale erogenous zones in a very, very pale way. In a pile. As his moirail.

You’d laugh, but you don’t want to disturb him when he’s this relaxed. It would be the greatest crime you could commit. You kiss his forehead, to a lazy chatter, and trade out the chitin oil for extra tough horn wax, to cap off his broken horn. Not an average horn grooming accessory, and not strictly necessary for Equius, but you like to use it so his horn is less likely to tear up clothes or cuddle planes and won’t hurt him quite as much. There isn’t really anything to be done about all the pain that comes with a broken horn, but if there was, you’d get it for him in a pusherbeat. You love your moirail.

With his horns done, you pet his hair and ask him the same question you do every time, even though you know the answer. “Do you wanna try and do mine?”

It’s gentle and innocent, never pressuring and always open for him to answer either way. You don’t expect him to ever agree to do your horns, with his issues with STRENGTH (you like to believe that he can do it and will eventually believe in himself enough to at least try), but it’s become one of those sweet little moirail rituals you have.

He makes a little disgruntled noise, as usual, and you’re fully prepared to take it as a ‘no’ and move on. Then he mumbles something else, all low and grumbly, and enough off script that you’re startled into completely missing what he actually said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re not sorry.” A fair assessment, usually. “I said I’ll try.”

You stare for a long moment, processing it, then grin like you’ve never grinned before. _Hell_ yeah, you’re gonna get _all_ moirailed up.

“Please don’t grin like that, it’s unsettling.” You promptly grin even wider and earn another disgruntled noise as he sits up from your lap.

You finally stop grinning while you shuffle around to get your head into his lap, purring up an absolute storm, and start directing him on how to care for your horns. You judge by feel which grade of horn sander you need, then check again every few rasps at his request to see when you need to move up a grade.

The horn oil makes you melt, and you don’t get any horn wax. Or, not the same kind of horn wax as Equius. What you get is thinner, and penetrates your horns deeper. It’s meant to last longer, and doesn’t provide the same comfort. It mostly protects your horns from the same sort of damage Equius has. Because he cares about you, and you care about him enough to let him take care of you like that. It’s nice, really, and you’re so proud of him for doing that.

After some more time in the pile, and plenty more teasing, you move to the couch for a movie and all the cuddling you could possibly ask for. You’d say that you’ve decided you have the best moirail ever, but you already knew that.


End file.
